


Aftermath (or, The Curious Case of the Missing Dog after the Fight-time)

by ConnecticutJunkie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crap- now we went into politics, Episode: s08e03 The Long Night, F/M, Fluffier Than Expected, Gen, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Minor Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Slow Burn, Up to season 8 spoilers, davos is the best, loners wanna be alone, no seriously i love davos so much, tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-16 02:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18681865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConnecticutJunkie/pseuds/ConnecticutJunkie
Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle for Winterfell, Sansa begins the recovery efforts. But it's hard to tell if someone survived if they don't want to be found.Sansa also finds some other interesting stuff along the way.





	1. Davos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all very much for the kudos and comments on my first work in years that was posted post S08E02. This is not a sequel to that, just an independent follow up to what happened in the "The Long Night." I feel like I will continue until the show gives us a reunion, because I know I'm not the only one waiting for it. Thank you to all the other writers too, who are posting post-episode stories. It feels good to read new takes on this ship now that we all have new episodes, and I can't wait to get to reading some others. Also I have joined twitter again after about an 8 year hiatus just to enjoy the GOT tweets (ok, GOT and Adventure Zone), and I would love to have some san/san friendly folks to follow, so you can find me @withretsyn.  
> \-------------

The Great Hall was teeming with people, hot from both the bodies and the fires she had ordered lit; the smell of blood, smoke, and stew hung heavy in the hazy air. Sansa pushed her way through the crowd, most too dazed or mournful to remember to clear the path for their Lady. She was alone, having dismissed Brienne to go rest. 

It truly had been the only source of mirth that day. In a smaller dining hall, in front of a fire, Brienne had fallen asleep in a chair, still holding a hunk of bread in her hand. Sansa had watched from afar as Jaime Lannister placed his cloak on the flagstones, struggled just a bit with hoisting Brienne from the chair and onto the makeshift bed, and most surprising of all, curled up behind her and fell asleep himself, the arm with his golden hand slung over Brienne’s waist. Sansa had exchanged a look with Pod, who just shrugged and fell asleep on his own cloak a few feet away. It seemed that no one had the energy to make it back to their rooms. 

That had been about an hour after the dawn. Now, night was falling again and many of the warriors were still sleeping, or getting wounds attended to. 

Many though, were not accounted for. That was why she was here now. She herself had not slept yet, and could not sleep. This, the aftermath, the planning; this was her battle.

The Dragon Queen had finally come in from the field and though she was washed and changed, her eyes were still red. Sansa sat next to her and placed parchments, quills, and ink on the table.

But she couldn’t write. Not yet. To buy some time, she asked, “How are the dragons, your Grace?”

Daenerys stared past her at the fire in one of the hearths. “Mourning...but healing. As we all seem to be.”

Sansa quirked her eyebrow. “I didn’t know dragons could feel that way.”

“They have their favorites. Ser Jorah was the second person to ever see them.” Another tear rolled down her cheek.

“You have my condolences.”

“We all can trade condolences for days,” Daenerys replied, bitterly. 

“More like months,” Sansa countered, and picked up the quill. She labeled each parchment, and passed the one with ‘Dothraki’ over to Daenerys. “I’m sorry. I don’t know their names.”

“It would be easier to write the names of the survivors,” Daenerys said, picking up her own quill.

“Easier, yes. But why should we stray from the hard path now? Those who are gone should not be forgotten.” Her own parchment was labeled ‘The North.’ And as long as she lived, the North would remember.

With a deep breath, she began.

_Theon Greyjoy, Iron Islands._

Sansa’s penmanship was shaky. Perhaps she should not have started with that name. _Jorah Mormont, Bear Island._

_Lady Lyanna Mormont, Bear Island._

She worked in quiet until Ser Davos approached them. Sansa had tasked him, Varys, and Tyrion with walking the keep and taking inventory. She had waited for Daenerys to act first, but had realized the Dragon Queen was beyond doing much more than vacant staring at the present time.

Davos’ face was grim, though it was often that way. 

“How bad?” she asked.

“Let’s just say you won’t need to worry about having a shortage of grain.” He handed a parchment to Daenerys. “Grey Worm and Missandei finished the tally of fallen Unsullied.”

It was a long parchment. Daenerys took it, and Sansa indicated for Davos to sit next to her, in an effort to give the other woman a bit of privacy after she saw another tear slide down.

Davos sat, and Sansa continued to add the names she knew of to her lists. People first, then she would have to handle the cleanup and rebuilding. But of course, there was Cersei also. Sansa felt like she was constantly rolling a boulder up a hill. If she stopped, she would be crushed.

“Varys and Tyrion?”

“Still working on organizing the recovery and identification of the fallen. The bodies are being placed outside the walls. Those who can write are keeping lists as the survivors find who they are looking for amongst the dead.”

“Thank you. Please make sure anyone who hasn’t had a chance to eat or sleep is relieved. This will not be done in one night.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“That includes you, Ser Davos. Go get some stew.” Sansa nodded over to where several cauldrons had been placed near a hearth. Davos complied, and rose to fetch a bowl. She scanned the crowd again while he was up.

Davos returned with three bowls. Sansa offered him her thanks and began to eat. Daenerys’ bowl remained untouched. 

Handing her half his hunk of bread, Davos broke her out of her thoughts with a low, earnest question. “Are you looking for anyone? I can tell you if I’ve seen them.”

There was a name on the tip of her tongue, but she could not say it. Not yet. Better to have false hope than true knowledge. “The Red Woman? I haven’t seen her.”

“Gone, my Lady.”

Sansa gave him a small smile. “How is it that you sound both relieved and sad?”

“We had a long history of disagreeing. But she always did what she did because she thought it was right; she always fought for the living, she just fought dirty.”

“That reminds me of someone else I know.”

“Is this the someone else you keep looking around for?”

Sansa sucked in a sharp breath. Ser Davos had told her he’d been a smuggler before being a Lord; she supposed his keen eye for detail and insight came from his prior profession.

“Yes.” She put the quill down. “I know he was here, and I should have spoken with him before the battle. I owe him an apology. But he reminded me of a time when I was useless and stupid, and I was afraid that I would feel that way again.”

“When was that?”

Sansa allowed a small smile to cross her lips. “The last time I saw him was the Battle of Blackwater. It feels like a hundred years ago.”

“A hundred years and yesterday.” Davos lay his spoon down. “I lost my son in that battle.”

“I keep saying to people, ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ so many times that I hope it doesn’t lose the meaning. But I am, truly, sorry for your loss. I had prayed for Stannis’ victory.”

“Thank you, my lady.” She could see him willing back tears, and squeezed his hand. He smiled back at her, and she could see him press the dark thoughts down. “Sometimes I wonder how I keep making it out alive while the younger and stronger don’t. Now, tell me this man’s name so that maybe I can finally deliver you some good news.”

Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat. “Sandor Clegane,” she murmured, and the guilt made her cheeks run hot. Why had she not just sought him out, thanked him, told him she was fine now? How did she have the courage to stand up for the North to a woman with dragons, but was afraid to say hello to a grizzled old warrior?

She saw Davos’ face fall, and her own stomach went with it. “I’m sorry, my lady,” Davos began, and Sansa felt the tears prickle in her eyes, “I haven’t seen or heard of him today. Alive or dead.”

How could a man a head taller than most go unnoticed? If he wasn’t dead, perhaps Sansa would strangle him herself once he was found. She should have asked Arya when she had the chance, but her sister had disappeared in the aftermath once she knew all her family was safe. 

Davos stood. “I’ll go back and keep an eye out for you. A big man like that, with half a face of scars...someone will be bound to find him.”

“Not if he doesn’t want to be found,” she said, remembering how he would find her in the most isolated of places. How could she forget how much of a loner he was? He wouldn’t come to the Great Hall and sit with hundreds of others for dinner, not after surviving another firefight. He would steal his dinner from the kitchens and head to the one place no one would look for him.

Sansa gathered her writing supplies, gave a quick courteous goodbye to Daenerys, and turned to Davos. “Don’t worry about it. I think I know where he will be.”

\----

 

____

~~~~~~


	2. Arya (and Gendry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short update. I'm trying to finish before episode 4, and trying to decide if I want to put some extra Jaime/Brienne stuff in there. 
> 
> I'd tell you to enjoy, but it's tagged slow burn for a reason. Heh.
> 
> ~~~~

Sansa tamped down the guilt she felt at leaving Ser Davos to the tally, even though she knew he would not have objected. Winterfell was unguarded for the time being, and as such anyone would have free reign of the castle’s halls and buildings. Jon had gone back to the Lord’s chambers to sleep; Daenerys had been given the Lady’s chambers next door, that had lain vacant since Ramsay’s demise. 

Sansa had take her old room from childhood, just as Arya did when she had returned. Even though he might not be as familiar with Winterfell as the Red Keep, she remembered how he’d escorted Joffrey to her chambers ages ago when the royal family had visited.

She quickened her pace, anxious to see if he would still remember the path. 

When she reached her door she pushed it open, expecting him to be there. Would he be drunk, as before? Covered in gore, or had he taken the time to clean himself? Would she hold him down at knifepoint and demand her own song?

The dragonglass dagger was still in her belt, after all.

There had been no maid to enter and light the candles today, and the setting sun wasn’t much to see by. But she knew, with a sinking pull in her belly, that her room was empty. 

Maybe she would sleep, finally. But tired as she was, her mind was more alert than her body. She needed to find him. What if he disappeared again? The Lady of Winterfell had not welcomed him; Arya certainly wasn’t much for courtesies. The thought of him thinking he was unwanted and heading away made her heart race.

She knocked on the door that connected her room to Arya’s. If her sister was sleeping, she’d had enough hours. Bran had told her Arya had been the one to defeat the Night King, but no amount of pride for her sister would keep Sansa from waking her now. 

“Arya,” she called, knocking louder. It was just courtesy; the door was never barred. 

Courtesy be damned. Sansa opened the door, noticed the fire in Arya’s hearth had dwindled to embers, and also noticed that her sister was not alone in the bed.

Sansa supposed she would have been scandalized at another time. But Jon could ride a dragon, and Arya had defeated a thousands year old monster. What did it matter any longer if her sister was being intimate with a king’s bastard.

“Arya,” she hissed, not wanting to wake Gendry. She had learned the hard way not to touch Arya until she woke. 

Of course, Arya didn’t wake like most people. Her eyes snapped open, and she was instantly up. “Sansa?”

“Have you seen Sandor Clegane?”

Her sister’s lip curled up. “Last I saw him he and Dondarrion were with me in the library...or somewhere near there...clearing a path for me to get through.”

“Did he make it through the battle?”

“Probably. He’s hard to kill.”

Sansa felt tears prick her eyes. How long had it been since she’d almost cried out of frustration? The exhaustion was making her into a child again. 

“Seven hells,” Arya said, without much malice. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about him.”

“I haven’t seen him in years. I just don’t want him to be dead.”

“He’s not dead.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Fine. I just have a feeling that he’s not dead.”

Sansa quickly wiped away a tear. “Do you have a feeling as to where he might be?”

“The battlements, if they aren’t too damaged. The stables, if they’re still standing. He liked that stupid horse of his too much. He’s probably somewhere he can help but where there are not a lot of people.”

“Thank you.” Sansa hugged her sister, and looked over to where Gendry was still sleeping. He was definitely a handsome man. “I’m sure Jon would be willing to legitimize him.”

“Why?” Arya scoffed. “He doesn’t need a fancy name to be part of our pack.”

~~


	3. Brienne and Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Winterfell has communal baths fed by the hot springs, Harrenhall style. Just roll with it.

~~~

There had been several black horses in the stables, and Sansa had not been sure which one was his until one tried to take her finger off. The owner of the cantankerous beast was not around, and so Sansa had crossed it off her list along with the armory, the library, a large room that had become makeshift barracks, and another impromptu dining hall. She even stopped by the baths, and found Podrick Payne guarding the door. 

If Podrick was at the door, it usually meant that Brienne was inside. However, Pod refused to move when Sansa approached. 

“It is good to see you made it,” she said, offering a courtesy that was nevertheless heartfelt.

He just nodded, and turned red. “I can’t let you in, m’lady,” he said, clearly uncomfortable denying her.

“But Brienne is inside?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

“Then I’m sure it will be fine.”

“Ser Jaime told me not to let anyone in.”

Sansa felt her eyebrows raise, and even though she didn’t know the Kingslayer well, it seemed Brienne did. Brienne was not the type of woman to fawn over a man and stay blind to his flaws; she would have seen through Joffrey in a heartbeat. First Arya, now Brienne, it seemed everyone who made it through the battle was finding a way to celebrate.

Except her, of course. She was just fruitlessly trying to track down an old dog.

“Have you seen Sandor Clegane?”

“Not since the battle, m’lady.”

“Then I will be asking Brienne. And, it appears, Jaime Lannister.” When Pod turned red again, she put the poor boy at ease by adding, “I’ll knock first.”

Which she did, and called out to Brienne as loud as she could to let her know she would be entering soon. After a brief pause she could hear the low rumble of the Kingslayer’s laughter, and Brienne bid her enter.

Her sworn shield was in the sunken stone bath, but Jaime Lannister sat on its edge, a cloth wrapped around his waist. His chest was mottled with bruises, and there were many fresh wounds on his body, some bearing the signs of hasty stitches. 

Brienne seemed to have fared slightly better, although she was also immersed almost neck deep in the bath. Maybe her injuries were lower.

Sansa gave a quick nod of greeting to the Kingslayer, and without expecting it, felt a small bit of excitement in her belly at the way he looked in just the cloth. _As long as he didn’t speak, he was handsome,_ she thought. It surprised her; she’d thought she would never want a man again, but perhaps as time went on her mind would heal as much as her body physically had. 

“Ser Jaime was assisting me in bathing, my lady. My injuries make it hard to move currently.” Brienne’s cheeks were flushed far more than the hot spring water that fed the bath would have caused. Sansa gave her a small smile to reassure her there was no judgment. 

“Does Ser Jaime require assistance too? I can see if Pod can help.”

“That’s alright, Lady Sansa,” the Kingslayer practically cut her off, “Ser Brienne has already been of invaluable assistance to me. She is very skilled at helping me get off-” he paused for a moment, and Brienne’s eyes widened almost in fear “-my armor. It’s so very _hard_ for me to get it off with just this one hand.” 

Sansa swore Brienne was the reddest shade a living person could be. The Kingslayer continued, obviously loving to watch her squirm. “These five fingers are quite skilled at many maneuvers, getting into tight places…” and at this he actually winked at Brienne, who had sunk as far into the water as possible without drowning herself, “but all the buckles and clasps are just beyond my scope.”

If anyone could defend herself from unwanted attentions, it was Brienne. Sansa knew she need not worry that her shield would be forced to endure as she herself had. Still, she couldn’t help but be perturbed by the visuals the Kingslayer was giving her. “Thank you, Ser Jaime, though those details were far more than I needed to hear. Brienne, how injured are you?”

“I should be able to heal quicker than most, my Lady. It is mostly soreness and minor abrasions. A few bitemarks.”

“The laceration to your right inner thigh, don’t forget,” the Kingslayer chimed in with. He practically beamed. “I sewed it up myself.”

Sansa tried to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “In that case, Brienne, you may have the night off. I will be fine without your protection.”

“Yes, my Lady,” Brienne managed to say, her voice much higher and shakier than normal. 

“And while I would expect the both of you to attend any meetings if called for, I’m sure I will be fine for the next several days if my sworn shield needs further time to...recover.”

“Yes, my Lady.” 

The Kingslayer even gave her a quick bow before sliding back into the water. “Many thanks, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa took a deep breath and asked what she had been dreading. “Before I go, have either of you come across Sandor Clegane after the battle?”

“We did,” Brienne offered. 

“Alive?” She braced herself for an answer that would not be to her liking.

“Well he could hardly drink the wine he was stealing if he was dead,” Jaime added.

“Thank the gods,” Sansa breathed, and didn’t even notice the looks Jaime and Brienne exchanged.

“I was not aware you were close,” Brienne said.

“I could say the same for the two of you,” Sansa countered, and felt bad when she saw Brienne flinch. Sometimes it seemed she couldn’t shake the ghost of Littlefinger’s training. “Apologies, Brienne. You are entitled to any happiness you wish for, no matter the source.”

The near constant bemused expression on Jaime’s face disappeared. “Thank you, Lady Sansa,” he said solemnly. Though she was still trying to come to terms with a sincere Jaime Lannister, she wasn’t quite ready to let her guard down around him. 

“May I offer a suggestion?” he asked, and she nodded her assent. “We’re of the same age. When we were learning to squire back at the Rock, if his brother was around, Clegane would disappear. Sometimes into the woods, or sometimes just somewhere in the castle no one expected to find him. Somewhere acceptable for a person to be for a long time, so as not to give the impression of hiding, but somewhere Gregor would never go.”

“I’ve checked the library.”

“Definitely the last place a person would look for the Hound. In that case, do you have a sept in this frozen land, or is the Godswood the only place a man can sit and commune silently with the gods...or at least pretend to?”

Of course. She would never have looked there. 

“Thank you, Ser Jaime, Brienne,” she said with a smile, “I’ll leave you to your _recovery_.”

 

~~~~~~


	4. Varys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varys and Sansa get woke.

Chapter 4

~~  
The Godswood was not empty. It was almost teeming with people, as it seemed to Sansa that a large percentage of the population was there to be married, or to witness a marriage.

She wondered how many new mouths to feed there would be in a year, and quickly prayed the winter would be short with the Night King vanquished. Her prayers to defeat Cersei were a much longer and involved affair.

At the edge of the Godswood, surveying the comings and goings of all the people was Lord Varys. He was seated on a small bench, hands clasped under his cloak, as still as a statue might be. No one walking by seemed to take note of him; he blended into the background not by magic or camouflage, but solely on his own talent for seeming unimportant. 

Would she have to ask every remaining person in Winterfell the same question? Perhaps she had died in the crypts, and was in a purgatory of sorts. Her ghost was doomed to walk Winterfell, asking all and sundry where her lost love was.

Of course, Sandor Clegane was not truly her love. But it would make a better song that way.

She approached Varys and he greeted her quietly; she sat next to him and watched the parade of comings and goings.

Finally, she broke the companionable silence. "How many marriages have you counted?"

"Fourteen so far. But I haven't been here overly long."

"Any of great importance?"

"I'm sure they all consider it important to them. But no, nothing of great political importance. One of the farther flung branches of the Mormont tree to a wilding woman. He might be the head of their house now. I'm not entirely sure. But there aren't too many of them left."

Sansa nodded, relieved someone else was keeping track of what so many others had dismissed as inconsequential when the dead were coming. "Can we speak honestly, Lord Varys?" 

"I certainly hope so, Lady Stark."

"What are the early estimates of the losses? I know the houses of the Vale and the North easily enough, I know their people. Even the Wildlings I am familiar with. I've seen early estimates. But what size of Daenerys' army is left to march south?"

There was visible pain on Varys' face, along with worry. "The Dothraki have been decimated. A handful of survivors, injured and trapped under horses or other fallen have been recovered. The Unsullied..." Varys trailed off, "The Unsullied have also had significant losses."

"How many are left?" Sansa pressed.

"Not enough," he sighed, and turned to look at her. "We would march on Cersei much diminished."

Sansa considered this information for a time. "Why even march on her at all? We've already stocked Winterfell for the winter. We can rebuild the outer defenses. Let her come here and starve during the siege. Her sell swords may find better pay for less misery elsewhere. And Euron Greyjoy's fleet is useless past White Harbor."

Varys nodded. "Some of us are content to find safety in hiding. Others feel safer on the offensive." 

Sansa knew his meaning. A woman unafraid to ride a dragon would not wait patiently behind walls.

She bared her truth to him, willing to take a risk; after all this, she had a feeling Varys was honest about his loyalty to the peace of the realm. Littlefinger had told her before it was what Varys had always claimed. _Don't trust the spider_ , his ghost whispered.

But Littlefinger could never comprehend not wanting power for oneself. Altruism was always only for show or future benefit; _everyone_ had a hidden motive, and beyond that, an even deeper hidden motive. To Littlefinger, plans and schemes were onions, layer after layer. 

Sansa wasn't a cook, but even she knew there was no prize at the heart of an onion.

So she took a breath and blurted, "Sometimes I wish we had lost, just to see the look on Cersei's face when an even bigger army of the dead swarmed her." 

Varys chuckled, much to her relief. "An understandable fantasy. Sometimes I fear we have all been dancing to a tune only Cersei can hear."

Sansa nodded her agreement, and broached a topic that had been increasingly growing in her mind. "How much do you know of military tactics, Lord Varys?"

"Much less than I know about whispers."

"It was said that Tywin Lannister had one of the best military minds."

"Undoubtedly." 

"Would Tywin Lannister have planned the defenses in the same way? Would he have sent the mounted out for slaughter? Why build the trebuchets but only fire them a handful of times? We had reports of their army's size, but why did we expect them to behave as a trained army would? They were mindless dead, Jon and Daenerys had already seen them in action. If the Night King had waited 8000 years to come, surely he would have had the patience to wait for us all to die before finding Bran. Why just one fire trench?"

She paused herself before letting her mouth carry her away into trouble.

"I'm sorry. All the reports that I've been hearing for the last day are causing my mind to jumble. I know battles are always best fought after the fact. But I cannot help but compare it to the few I have seen. And I think, what would the Boltons have done? Robb, or my father? Would Tywin Lannister have emerged with such heavy losses?"

Varys shook his head. "I doubt it, my Lady. But he might have also tied your brother to the roof of the tallest tower and let the Night King come for him. One can only speculate, after the fact."

"I stayed quiet during the battle discussions. I trusted in those with more experience, even though I had questions, because they had seen the dead. They had survived other battles. If I speak up now, will they even listen to me? Jon might, but will he capitulate to his queen? Can she see her faults? Did we truly win or are we just losing and don't know it?"

"Those are questions I'm certain will be answered soon enough."

"Do you fear speaking decisively on the matter?"

"Am I not justified in my fear? I'm just an advisor. We are disposable if our advice is deemed faulty." 

Sansa lowered her voice and turned to face him better. "If you truly find yourself being disposed of, the North could always use an honest man of your talents."

Varys gave her a long look. She held it, letting him see that for all it might be considered scheming, she was at least honest. Sansa placed her hand on his forearm, in an effort to further sway him. "I don't have dragons, or vast armies. I just have my people."

"Thank you." He squeezed her hand in response. There was a period of quiet, and Sansa watched the red leaves scatter around them and resettle in the winds. He broke the silence first. "I tried to protect you, in King's Landing."

The surprise must have shown on her face because he added, "I have a soft spot for children and the mistreated. Your father was a decent man and you were an innocent child. If it is within my power to help someone, I do."

"In that case, please accept my delayed gratitude. I can't believe I once stupidly thought it was Littlefinger who was looking out for me with no ulterior motive."

"We all have moments in our past we are not proud of. You were raised to trust in the good of people. Forgive yourself and learn from it. Besides, had it worked according to plan, you might still be in Highgarden. You'd be enjoying a quiet life as a wife and mother, no true ability to shape your destiny, ignorant of what was going on around you. Of what costs others paid to let you live a life of leisure and safety."

She shook her head. "It seems so impossible now, to ever go back to a place like that. Knowing that a stable life can be upturned by one unstable ruler, or that the smallfolk can turn because of a bad harvest."

"A lesson some in power never learn."

"I want the North independent not because I don't support her, or believe she can't win. I want it because we have come so far, as Northerners governing ourselves, that we can't go back now. We have earned a seat at the table above the salt; we will not be forced back down to the long tables. Do you understand this, Lord Varys? That they are _our_ people we are protecting, and the whims of someone seated on a chair a thousand miles away should not interfere with _our_ people's lives. A throne is just a chair, a ruler is just a person. Why must it be the firstborn male of a house, even if he is an incapable fool, if there's a thirdborn son or firstborn daughter who could do the most good? Why is there no system other than rebellion to remove an incompetent and dangerous ruler like the Mad King?

Sansa swallowed, trying to find the words to express herself without sounding treasonous. "Understand, Lord Varys, that I do not want the throne. But I do want a seat at the table. I want to be asked my advice if something concerns the North, I want to keep my people safe, from threats outside and in."

"I see your point. But as you know, those in power may ask for advice, but rarely heed it."

"Then why keep them in power?"

Varys shrugged. "Because at least they still asked. Perfection is hard to come by; I'd settle for good enough."

Sansa looked him in his eyes. "And is she good enough?" 

"For now, let us hope so. The realm needs time to rest."

They sat in silence for a time, and watched a handful of newlyweds pass by.

Sansa decided to bring up a more immediate concern. "It might be nice to have a small feast, to honor those gone and encourage those living."

Varys nodded. "A wise idea."

"Perhaps one that would actually be heeded...if it came from your mouth."

His eyebrow raised. "Interesting. And when should I suggest this feast of mine?"

"Soon enough. We can't have endless funerals; let us all mourn together, and try to move on." She arched her eyebrow. "Besides, we have plenty of horsemeat and not enough room in the cellars for it all."

Varys gave a small, playful gasp. "Sansa Stark, you are terrible."

Sansa smiled back. "No. I'm practical. None of us are summer children anymore."

"And some of us never were truly children at all." She followed his gaze to where a few young ones were playing in the snow. "May they get to be for as long as they can." 

"That would be lovely," she agreed.

He stood. "I'm afraid my blood isn't as hardy in the cold as yours. Will you walk back in with me?"

Sansa shook her head. "I'm actually looking for someone. Have you seen Sandor Clegane?"

She could tell that had piqued Varys' curiosity. "Are you old friends from your time in the capital?"

"You don't already know? I thought your little birds told you everything."

"They report what they see, not what people feel. He went back for you during the bread riots, he covered you when Joffrey ordered you stripped. Why he did so, one is left to speculate. Was he protecting his King from poor decisions? Or was he just protecting you, thinking no one else would? Perhaps you were illicit lovers." He chuckled. "That one was a jape, of course."

Sansa smiled although her heart had started hammering at the statement. "Of course."

She recalled a moment from what felt a lifetime ago, and steered the conversation back to a less stressful path. "He stood up to his brother and saved Ser Loras during the Hand's Tourney."

"Yes, I seem to remember that. Well, it appears he too, has a soft spot for children and the mistreated."

"He offered to take me with him the night he left King's Landing. I declined. Did your birds know that?"

"No," Varys admitted. 

"That's ok," she comforted him, "neither did Baelish." 

~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I kept getting bothered the more I thought about the battle, and then it turns out a LOT of people were also questioning their tactics, and so I had to extend this by a chapter. Since the 4th episode is airing today, this is gonna veer into AU territory after s08e03.
> 
> \----  
> Y'all, come on. She did the Dothraki and Unsullied dirty.


End file.
